<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>we do not wash our own laundry, it only gets dirtier by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514069">we do not wash our own laundry, it only gets dirtier</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Serpico (1973)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Homophobia, I mean lots, Police Brutality, Racism, Swearing, frank serpico said fuck cops, some violence but none of it actually happens, trigger warnings for, who am i kidding no one is going to read this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:35:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Serpico decides enough is enough and quits the force for good and moves to the countryside and strarts a visiting farm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we do not wash our own laundry, it only gets dirtier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>soooo... basically the acab fic we all needed, and the ending that frank deserved.<br/>fuck the police !!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank Serpico hates cops. But you are a cop, he can already hear you ask. That may be true, but Frank Serpico hates cops with every inch of his being. He. Hates. Them. He hates their stupid clean-shaven faces with stupid smug smiles. He hates their stupid badges that don’t mean shit. He hates their guns which occupy space in their pockets as if real estate were free. He hates everything about them. Even their stupid boots.</p><p>But Frank, why are you a cop? They ask. And Frank feels guilt pool in his stomach. He knows that what he does for a living makes him actual human shit. He is aware of that. But he was a dumb naïve teenager with nothing but respect for the pigs they call the police and so he joined the force at a young age, not knowing of the atrocities they commit as an abuse of power. He knows he should probably quit the force, but Frank is one adamant man, and even if he knows he can’t change things from the inside he wants to try. Which is very stupid, believe him, he knows. Whenever he tries to make some change he gets hit down with a thousand bullets and its starting to look less and less likely that he is ever going to make some positive change.</p><p>But God does he want to stomp in most of his colleges faces, punch them, kick them, slap them; whatever. He would chop his own cock off if it meant he could shove it into their mouths so they could choke to death. He would clone his decapitated cock if he could just so he could make all cops in America choke to death by sucking on Frank Serpico’s big fat penis. He can’t even look at pigs the same, real pigs he means. He can’t look at them without feeling sick to the stomach. He feels sorry for pigs for being associated with vile scum like cops.</p><p>To Frank, pig is a bad insult to the police. He likes pigs; thinks that their snouts are sort of cute. He likes how they lie around all day without a care in the world. He hates cops. He thinks that there are many more insults which paint a better and clearer comparison. Even comparing them to a hot steaming piece of shit feels bland. When Frank looks in his toilet he can only see himself and the people he work with. He would take his shit out of his toilet and smother it in his colleges faces if he could. He would trim all his beard hair off and put it in his superior’s coffee so they choke to death.</p><p>And Frank Serpico feel bad as hell. He feels bad every day he walks into the precinct. He knows he should quit. Day after day after day he feels his heart sink lower into his body and his stomach get sicker and sicker. It’s not right. This world isn’t right. The people he work with aren’t right. He is tired of fighting for change that is never going to happen. He needs to quit or else he fears he will become as bad as the people he works with, and if that were to happen then Frank would never forgive himself. Ever.</p><p>And so one day he does.</p><p>He has had enough of the corrupt, racist police. He has had enough of cops shooting before looking. He has had enough of homophobic comments and sexist actions. He is sick and tired of working with these human trash cans. They stink and he likes to smell nice, God dammit!</p><p>And so here he is, sat at home with a cigarette in his hand, dreading the day to come. He is going to quit, he tells himself. He is not going to stand for this any longer. The people he work with are bastards of the lowest kind and they can burn forever in Satan’s fire for all he cares. They can die a long and painful death, at his hands or not, he doesn’t care. He looks at Alfie who’s head rests calmly on his knee and sighs. He loves that dog with all the love he has in his shallow heart. That dog is the only source of happiness in Frank’s dismal life, he could cry with how much happiness the walking ball of fluff gives. Alfie sighs and stretched his long furry legs. He takes up more room on the sofa than Frank at this point. Frank sympathises with Alfie’s sighs, it truly is a terrible world</p><p>He also knows he has to break up with his girlfriend. It’s been waiting to happen for a while now and Frank knows this. He isn’t even fully sure that he loves her. He doesn’t know if he ever did. Always so devoted to his job, he didn’t have much energy to focus on his personal life. He paid more attention to the copious animals he kept as pets. God does he love them. His dog, his mouse, his parrot. He was thinking of getting a cat.</p><p>He also thinks it would be best to move away, to really start anew. Maybe to the countryside, perhaps start his own farm. Living alone sounds rather good actually; he could really look inside himself and question his motives and be angry at how he has lived his life so far. Dear God, he hates himself. How could he have been so ignorant? How could he believe that he could change a system from the inside that tries so hard to fire him at every chance they can? It seems rather obvious now. And he realises that change can be made elsewhere. He can still fight for change without also being part of the problem. He could give talks, donate money, educate people on how awful cops truly are.</p><p>He thinks back to when he went to court, when he finally outed the people in his precinct as corrupt money hungry pieces of shit; he realises that it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing has changed since. Not one thing whatsoever. So that just cements the notion that change cannot be made from the inside, no matter how hard you try. So, yes. Frank is going to quit. He’s pretty proud of that actually.</p><p>He heaves Alfie off of his lap and runs his hands through his hair. He can do this. He can do this. He can do this.</p><p>“I can do this, Alfie,” he looks to his dog for reassurance, to which Alfie only looks at him with oblivious brown eyes. Oh well, he is only a dog after all.</p><p>And so, Frank leaves the house with a heavy heart. A heavy heart but a heart that knows the truth and a heart that knows that what it’s doing is right, even if it pains it.</p><p>The ride to the station feels longer than usual. The sun is only just rising but the skies are grey and filled with angry masses of clouds; they remind Frank a little of his co-workers, always angry, always mad. His motorbike feels rusty and slow. The wheels feel as though they are moving in slow motion. He heart however, is beating a million miles an hour. Apart from the money, he has nothing to lose: no friends, definitely no respect. He didn’t really care too much about the money in all honesty. He just wanted justice. How stupid he was.</p><p>The station before him looks the same as it always does. Dull and boring. Grey and stationary. Imposing. Intimidating. How should it look any different? But Frank decides that it would look a whole lot better if it were on fire, total anarchy – as it deserves (but he puts that thought to the back burner). The windows are tainted with the blood of the people who have died at the hands of the racist police. The door is tainted with red hands, wrongly arresting people purely because they have the authority too. An abuse of power. An abuse of an already racist system. Frank doesn’t want to be associated with those walking piss pots ever again.</p><p>He ponders how he’s going to go about this. Should he just walk in and leave his badge, never to come back again? Should he make a big drama about it, addressing the issues head on? No. that doesn’t sound particularly good; it could get very messy very quick. He wants to make a statement but he also doesn’t want things to become any worse than they are already going to get. The last thing he wants is a lawsuit filed against him. That would suck. Bad.</p><p>So he does what every other boring person would do and walks into the building as if it were any other normal day. He grimaces at the faces in the room, but that’s not different to any other day. He pulls his badge out from his pocket and takes one last look before slamming in on the table. The whole room goes silent.</p><p>“I quit,” Frank says without a hitch to his voice. Everyone looks at him blankly. “I don’t wanna stand for you cocksuckers anymore.” He half expects the room to erupt in laughter what with how much everyone hates him, but they’re all deadly silent, all staring at him like this is some stunt. It’s sort of shocking to see how surprised they all look; he would have thought that these fuckers were just waiting for the day that he was going to quit. Frank would have through that they would be over the moon.</p><p>“I fuckin’ quit okay? This shit isn’t for me anymore. I can’t fuckin’ stand around whilst you motherfuckers abuse your power and kill innocent people. And I don’t know how you pieces of shit can either. So yeah. I quit.”</p><p>Frank leaves the room before anyone can say anything. He leaves the room before anyone’s face can change expression. (He leaves the room before he can regret his decision.)</p><p>He is sure that they are taking the piss out of him, calling him a poof or a pussy or any offensive and prejudiced variant. He knows they are glad he is gone; they sure haven’t been discreet about their hate for him, that’s for sure. And he does not fucking care. Call him names all you want, that’s not going to change how terrible you are as a person. Frank doesn’t give a shit about what they think about him because he doesn’t matter. Frank doesn’t matter. In this situation at least. He hasn’t experienced police brutality or racism, sexism, homophobia. He isn’t the victim here whatsoever. He is the perpetrator. He is in the wrong and he admits that, he has come to terms with that. He feels disgust at himself and the other police officers, sick to his stomach thinking of all the lives and livelihoods damaged by megalomaniac fools.</p><p>And boy is he fucking angry. Angry at himself to a certain extent; angry at how he let this go on for so long, slightly angry at how he couldn’t make a difference. But he’s mostly angry at the police who think its okay to fucking extort money from the criminals they arrest. How in any world is that fucking okay? It baffles Frank, utterly confuses him how people can think stealing money from working class, vulnerable people is okay. One would think that the police wouldn’t commit crimes but that’s far from the truth; they’re the biggest fucking criminals out there. Murder, battery, robbery, you fucking name it. They deserve the jail time. They deserve to feel the way every person they arrest feels: scared, taken advantage of and let down by the people who are meant to be there to protect them. He’s angry at how they genuinely believe that what they are doing is okay. He doesn’t fuck with that anymore, and he’s pretty fucking glad about that.</p><p>As soon as Frank returns home he begins to pack. Alfie looks at him a little confused but he comforts the fluffball with a couple head-pats before going back to packing up shit again. He couldn’t tell you where he’s going. Perhaps he could convince his parents to let him stay at their countryside house, they never use it anyway. It’s a small cottage just outside New York and there’s a river nearby along with a small community of farmers. It sounds like a nice change from the dirty streets of New York. Some fresh air. Some peaceful people.</p><p>He has the keys; he can explain to his parents later. He’s sure they will understand. It won’t be a permanent settlement; he’ll find a job and save up enough money to buy a house of his own. He’ll find out a way to sell his current house too, after he has moved everything, of course.</p><p>But Frank can’t help the heavy feeling settling in his chest. He feels bad that he feel bad. He feels guilty… but for what? He did the right thing, he tells himself. But something doesn’t sit right with him. Who is going to fill his place? He dreads to think of the corrupt pig that will fill his place. It could be someone worse than any of the other officers in the NYPD. He knows that it isn’t his problem whatsoever but he can’t help but to feel conflicted. He can’t go back; would be counterproductive and stupid. But he also doesn’t want his place taken by someone who embodies hell. It’s not his problem anymore, he tells himself. But he can’t help but to believe that quitting is only the tip of the iceberg. There is so much more he has to do.</p><p>He has work to do.</p><p>And boy he is ready to take these motherfuckers all the way down.</p><p>Frank paces for a while, racking his brain on what he can do. He can’t talk to any law officials; they already despise his guts. He can’t think of anyone he knows that is antipolice (surprise surprise). He decides to take a break from packing to go out for a bit, go to the community centre to see if anyone has any fliers.</p><p>Noting.</p><p>Well, they do say if you want something done you should do it yourself.</p><p>Frank realises that he needs real people's support, not the cops, not lawyers, not politicians. Because real people have real voices. If he can persuade people to boycott by talking about his experiences then that is what he will do.</p><p>So he devises a plan. First, he will move to his parent’s countryside home. Whilst there he will set up a small farm, perhaps buy some chickens and some sheep – he does have a sheepdog after all. He will dedicate his time to writing to councils and preparing speeches because word needs to be spread. His voice and others alike need to be heard. He will write to human rights organisations, asking to hear his voice and to ask their opinions.</p><p>The game is on. Motherfuckers.</p><p>These pigs will be taken right the fuck down.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a couple of days to fully move, but once he does, he feels so much better. The house is beautiful. It’s so close to the river Frank can see it if he looks out his kitchen window. The front garden is littered with peonies and lilies of glorious shades of pink and blue. The grass is possibly the most luscious green he has ever laid his eyes upon; he feel rejuvenated just looking at it. Surrounding the house are cartoon hills and a small community that feels like it came straight from a child’s movie – the people there a little behind the times, but the warmth they give is joyful. Frank finally feels as though he can breathe. His lungs feel full and his mind is devoid of negative thoughts. He is determined and dedicated. He won’t let himself forget why he is here. He wont stop fighting until the day he dies.</p><p>Though he is hopeful, he knows that he can’t achieve what he wants to achieve in his lifetime, that’s a little too ambitious. He can only hope that what he says and does impacts people to want to make a change themselves too. If she has children he wants them to continue his fight and continue to protest against the racist police.</p><p>The breakup with his girlfriend was about as good as it gets, she was mad, Frank was sad. He told her that it was for the better and if he felt better after he had some time to himself then maybe they could work things out but by that time she had already left, never to return. Frank wasn’t too sad if he was honest, he had never really been one for human love.</p><p>He bought a few sheep from a local farmer a few months ago and Alfie has rather taken a liking to them, annoyingly. He’s a sheep dog for fucks sake, he’s supposed to herd them but Alfie does the exact opposite. Frank caught him and one of the sheep fucking sleeping with each other the other day. Granted, it was rather cute, but it rendered Alfie pretty useless as a sheep dog. But that’s okay because he loves his stupid dog and those stupid sheep.</p><p>He also bought a couple of chickens; they laid some eggs the other day and it was the first time Frank had ever eaten an egg fresh from the coup. He could definitely get used to this.</p><p>It was the first time he had spoken to an audience the other day as well. He spoke about his experience as an undercover cop back in New York, the trip took him a few hours but it was well worth the commute. He told of the corrupt officers he work with and how he had nearly died on the job. He confessed that almost dying had a profound effect on the officers and he felt as though some change was nearly going to be made, however he had been sorely wrong. He spoke out about the racism that goes on behind the scenes and the brutality that minorities face whilst detained in the police station. He voiced his guilt about being complicit in these actions, even if he didn’t feel as though he was at the time. He was taken aback by the positive atmosphere, nothing like how he felt when he was still a cop.</p><p>He begins to regret his decision less and less. He stills feels a little bad sometimes, and he dreads to think of the state of the station now that he has left. But that’s not his problem anymore, and he should stop worrying about it. Recently Frank has realised that he needs to direct his anger elsewhere. The pigs are fucking pigs, that’s for sure. However for things to change he needs to take this to a higher level. He needs protests, he needs letters to the government, he needs change from people in high places.</p><p>A protest is organised for a couple weeks’ time in Central Park; it will be peaceful but they will let their intent be known.</p><p>But for the time being, Frank sits at home by a lit fire, Alfie at his lap. He’s thinking of getting a few more animals, maybe turning his home into a visiting farm. He bought his parrot a friend and they’ve been conversing ever since. His mouse has a small cage in the garden with a little bed and a wheel. Maybe he should get a couple of Netherland Dwarf Lops, and perhaps a goat or two. The kids in the village come to visit his house to pet Alfie and heckle the chickens anyway, he could probably make some good profit out of it. In the future, he imagines himself with a larger house, with a plethora of animals. Some cows maybe, some llamas, a hedgehog and chinchilla. Frank could daydream about this all day. Really, animals bring him so much joy. They’re so innocent and kind; they make him realise that the world is not all awful and that there are small things that bring back the spark in life. Seeing Alfie’s fur covered face everyday when he wakes up in the morning brings him so much joy. So the thought living the rest of his life surrounded with animals instead of a wife and children doesn’t bring him sadness at all, because Frank is not a normal man. He never has been, he doesn’t go along with what everyone else is doing like the sheep in his field. But he’s happy that he’s not that kind of person. Thinking about it, this world needs more abnormal people. More people who make their voices heard, even if that voice is small and unrepresented. Even if the opinion that voice shouts is one shunned by the masses. Because often, those voices are the most important, and those voices are the ones that can spark the most change.</p><p>Frank still lives with the guilt of his job, but he realises that it’s the least of the world’s problems that a former cop feels sad. He never goes back, never checks on what happened after he left. The only times he ever goes to New York city is to talk and protest and see his parents (although his parents refer visiting him). When he goes to sleep at night he thinks of the victims of the police not with sadness, but with hope that there will not be anymore.</p><p>There’s a long way to go, but Frank is prepared to be there as long as he can.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>